Love and Loathing

by Gigi Blume

  There was a best seat in the house? The only seat I was concerned with was the one where I could observe Beth surreptitiously. I wasn’t so lucky. I hadn’t been hiding behind my menu for long before I saw her approach my table. She wore the biggest frown I’d ever seen, and her eyes were set on kill mode. She deposited a bottle of Bud Lite in front of me with a clunk. No glass. No cocktail napkin. Then she walked away. That horrendous costume she had to wear swooshed as she retreated, leaving lots to the imagination. The way she swayed her hips made the skirt swing side to side; it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I guess I’d always had an over-active imagination. Did I have a weird obsession for medieval maidens? Possibly.

  She ignored me for the next hour. I would have been upset with any other waitress in the same situation. But I was relieved. I let the beer sit in front of me untouched. The condensation had long disappeared—it dripped down the bottle and left a soaked ring on the table and now was likely flat and warm. I glanced a few times at my menu whenever Beth was out of sight. Nothing appealed to me. My stomach was in too many knots to eat anything. She approached the bar a few times to chat with her co-worker. The bartender, a twenty-something girl with thick-rimmed glasses and a face full of freckles, would glance my way then whip her head back to Beth. I knew they were talking about me. Probably conspiring to slip poison in my next drink. But the next drink never came. The poison was delivered in the occasional snide glances Beth condescended to give whenever she passed to wait on another table.

  This idea of mine was the most asinine thing to come out of the bowels of my brain. Ever. It was worse than the time I thought it would be fun to skydive. What was I doing there, stalking a woman like a scary clown? I didn’t even have a plan beyond finding her car in the parking lot. I didn’t know what I would say to her if she did decide to pay any attention to me. All my faculties left me as I crossed the threshold to this fluffed-up elks lodge. I’d bet my car they pumped opium through the vents. But Beth worked without much apparent aggravation from the opium or me for that matter. She did her job with swift efficiency, greeting customers with a genuine smile never once bestowed upon myself since I’d known her. She had an effervescent smile that reached her chocolate eyes with a small glint of playfulness. There was an indulgent merriment behind them—like she had a secret too fabulous to share. I wanted to know what it was. I wanted to know everything.

  No! This experiment wasn’t working. It was supposed to remind me how much of a bad idea it was to obsess over Beth. I was perfectly content with my career and my dog. I wanted my life back.

  The faux leather portfolio holding my bill appeared on the table.

  “Anything else?” Beth had her arms crossed, waiting for my reply. The smile had been replaced once again with a scowl. I had to laugh at that scowl. It was strange I found humor in it, but I realized in that moment the sour-puss face she wore was reserved only for me. Everyone else was the recipient of her smiles. But I was the only one to deserve her frowns. You have to admit—that’s pretty funny and ironic. Especially since it dawned on me that my grumpy attitude was likewise reserved for her.

  I reached for the check itemizing my one beer. “Three dollars and fifty cents?”

  Beth ticked her head to the side. “Is there a problem?”

  “How does this place stay in business?” I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  I slipped a credit card from my wallet and placed it in the bill holder. But as she reached for it, I stopped her hand with mine and held it there flat against the table for several moments, catching her eyes. Her hand was so tiny and delicate. I could have devoured it in my grip and pulled her closer, clashing her against me and claiming her soft lips. I could carry her away like the Pirate King carries Edith. Steal her for my very own and sail away on the high seas. From the corner of my eye, I could see the rise and fall of her chest. Her heart raced as fast as mine. She had to sense the primal attraction between us. It was heady and strong and if we weren’t in a crowded restaurant, I would have taken her into my arms and kissed her senseless. Forget the consequences.

  “May I have my hand back, Your Majesty?” She tried to keep her calm, speaking through gritted teeth.

  I slowly lifted my hand from hers. A chill claimed my palm where her warmth had been. She snatched the bill to her chest, putting distance between us as swiftly as she could, but before she escaped completely, I blurted, “Wait.”

  She froze in her tracks. I was surprised at how effective that was. She didn’t turn her body back towards me but shifted her eyes just enough for a sideways glance.

  “Elizabeth…” I said. I didn’t know where I was going with this, but I’d opened my mouth, so I was committed to finishing the sentence. “…about the other day. I realize I might have said some things that may have offended you. But I don’t have the talent…” to what? To use my words while conversing with infuriating women? To repress my inner cave man? “…to act naturally in social situations.” It was the best I could do for an apology. I mean, come on—the pixie wouldn’t give me back my dog.

  “And?”

  Oh. Was I supposed to keep talking? Because my mind went completely blank. I fixed my eyes on the soft curve of her jawline. The way it yielded to the gentle slope of her graceful neck, the rogue wisps of hair falling from the confinement of her loose bun, caressing the skin above her collar bone. Oh, to trail my fingers along the goose flesh there. Hail Poetry.

  “Well?”

  She grew impatient, likely set off her rails by the intense scrutiny of my whacky stare.

  “Uh, keep the card,” I blurted, sliding out from the booth. “To run a tab.”

  “Run a tab? This isn’t the Old West. We don’t run tabs here.”

  I was done. I was so done. I didn’t care if I left my card behind. She could rack up charges on all the fandom t-shirts in the world for all I cared. I needed to leave before I let the Pirate King take over. As I left the building, I decided my suspicions were correct. They definitely piped something through the vents. But why did it affect only me?

  18

  Taco Wednesday

  Beth

  “Why do rich guys think they can impress women by throwing their money around like glitter?” I plopped onto a barstool and slammed the check holder on the counter. I didn’t care who saw me sitting on the job. I’d had it.

  “Did he leave you another hundred-dollar bill?” Charlotte gave me a quick glance and continued chopping limes.

  “Worse. He told me to keep his credit card and took off.”

  “So charge it and give yourself a nice tip.”

  “What’s twenty percent of three dollars and fifty cents?”

  “Um… seventy cents.”

  “Hmmm.” I slumped lower on the barstool. “That won’t even buy me a nail polish at the dollar store. I hate him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Why does he have to bother me at work and challenge me to a staring contest?”

  “It’s pretty obvious he’s into you.”

  “No way. He’s a bully. He just came to flex his muscle in my face.”

  “Exactly,” she nodded. “A very nice muscle.”

  “Shut up.”

  A nice muscle. Lots of nice muscles. Everywhere. Ugh! I wondered if washing that man right outta my hair was actually a thing. It was worth a try. And what was that stupid little speech of his? I don’t have the talent to act naturally in social situations. What kind of lame apology was that?

  Will came back the next day. And the day after that. Each time he sat in the same booth, and I brought him his Bud Lite, which he never drank. We didn’t speak a word, and I happily charged his card with an added twenty percent gratuity. I was rolling in the big bucks now. I almost had enough for an iced americano at Starbucks. A few more visits, and I could afford a cinnamon bun. Woo hoo!

  I noticed a new addition to the autographed black and whites on Sir William Lucas’ celebrity wall after Will’s third visit. It was signed �
��the best service in Hollywood” next to a loopy signature in gold sharpie. Brilliant.

  When a few days passed, I thought I’d be rid of him, but the day before Christmas Eve, he came again, but this time he brought a guest. Why he chose Lucas Lodge to have lunch with Fitz Hanlon was a mystery beyond my understanding. Sir William Lucas was all over himself with joy, imputing Will’s frequent visits as a compliment to himself. Charlotte had to refrain him from creating a plaque that read William Darcy’s table.

  I actually grew to like Fitz a lot. He still owed me a rematch in ping pong after he beat me impressively at Cole’s party. I called him on having an unfair advantage because he was stone-cold sober. He didn’t deny it. I didn’t admit I was horrible at ping pong, either.

  I brought Will his usual Bud Lite which he frowned at and then turning to Fitz, I greeted him with a smile. His presence at the William Darcy table rendered it impossible to ignore Will altogether, but I was willing to play nice for Fitz’s sake. His features brightened when I approached the table, followed by an amused perusal of my uniform.

  “Oh em gee, Beth! Why are you dressed like a wench?” His smile was contagious, and his energy was enough for the whole restaurant to run on for a week. To say Fitz was like the energizer bunny was an understatement.

  “This is my uniform, thank you.”

  His jaw dropped, and he bounced his expression from me to Will and back again. “You work here? I didn’t know that. Will, did you know that?”

  “Yes,” was Will’s bored, laconic reply.

  Fitz rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind Will. He’s in a mood.”

  “A man of few words,” I agreed.

  “Come sit next to me,” he said, sliding over in the booth.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I’m on the clock.”

  “She can’t socialize while working.” Will had his face buried in the menu but chanced a glance in my direction. “She hardly speaks to me at all.”

  “Well, I can’t say I blame her.” Fitz laughed. “So, what’s good here?”

  “Order anything you want,” I said with a grin. “Will has a tab. Should I start you with some oysters Rockefeller? The filet mignon is also an excellent choice. It’s grass fed and wrapped in bacon.”

  Will narrowed his eyes and offered me a thin-lipped smirk. Game on.

  Fitz groaned appreciatively. “Mmmm. Sounds delicious. Medium rare for me. Will?”

  “Oh, Will likes his meat bloody,” I said with a devilish smirk. He just nodded stupidly. “I recommend a bottle of Opus One to pair with your meal.”

  Will’s eyes popped out of his head. “That’s an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of wine.”

  At least I got some kind of reaction from him.

  “Sorry, but that’s the best we have,” I said. “I hope it’s good enough for you.”

  “What does a place like this get off having eight-hundred-dollar bottles of wine?”

  “Is there a problem, Your Majesty?”

  “The sign outside boasts of the best Taco Wednesday in all the realms. Who does Taco Wednesdays? It doesn’t exactly scream fine dining.”

  “Well, Your Majesty, perhaps if you got off your lofty perch, you’d see how the other half lives.”

  “Oh? Let’s see.” He ran his finger down the appetizer menu. “Does Opus One pair well with the St. James Nachos, or do you recommend the Regency Chili Fries?”

  Actually, the chili fries should have come with a side of Pepto Bismol, but I didn’t tell Will that. Instead, I contented myself with, “Tell me. How’s the weather up there in your castle? Can you see Catalina on a good day?”

  His eyes flashed over my atrocious costume. “Enjoying the view immensely, thanks.”

  “What are you two even talking about?” Fitz cut in. Will and I ceased fire and turned our heads to him like synchronized swimmers. His eyes volleyed between us. “You sound like an old married couple.”

  Our heads whipped back to one another, my features cringing, his flushed and bothered. The veins in his neck were protruding, bulging tunnels ready to burst, reaching the surface of his skin. His jaw ticked and set like stone on his somber face while his eyes pierced through the fog of discord we’d created.

  “The Opus One will be fine, thank you.” His eyes never left me, and I could feel the weight of his stare as I walked to the bar to place the order.

  “This is a far leap from the usual Bud Lite,” said Charlotte with dollar signs in her eyes. “How did you manage this?”

  “I got skillz.”

  “What you got is an admirer.” She nodded in Will’s direction as she polished two wine glasses. I casually glanced over my shoulder to find Fitz chatting away to a very inattentive Will, who watched my interaction with Charlotte with pointed interest. Was he worried I’d spit in his glass or something?

  “Why is he staring like that?” I groaned. “It’s creepy.”

  Charlotte shot me a ‘girl, you cray cray’ look. “Creepy? Really? Are you blind?”

  I huffed. “Just because he’s good looking doesn’t give him the right to ogle people at work. It’s making me uncomfortable, like he’s waiting for me to make a mistake.”

  Charlotte crawled into the cabinet behind the bar and emerged a moment later with the Opus One.

  “Whatever you say, Beth. I’m sure he’s moonlighting as a secret shopper. Oh, look! He’s making his report now. You’re so busted.”

  I admit, she made me look. He was still staring with his signature sour expression, and Fitz was still talking his ear off.

  I snatched the bottle of wine and one glass. “Give me another Bud Lite.”

  “Only one wine glass?” she asked.

  I was about to confirm her question but thought better of it when Will stepped outside to answer his phone.

  “On second thought, I’ll take two glasses. And the Bud Lite.”

  Charlotte shrugged and popped the top off the beer, which I happily placed on my tray with the wine service and made my way back to Fitz. He was taking in all the visual stimulus Lucas Lodge had to offer. There certainly was no shortage of interesting things to occupy one’s eyeballs.

  “That’s a real beaver,” I said, nodding to the shelf of taxidermic animals as I uncorked the bottle. He chuckled.

  “If I were a straight man, I’d have a joke for that.”

  “If you were a straight man, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.” I winked, pouring a sampling of wine and offering him the glass for approval.

  He nodded for me to fill the glass, and I poured two generous portions, plopped onto Will’s side of the booth and took a long gulp.”

  Fitz regarded me quizzically. “I thought you couldn’t sit on the job.”

  “Oh. That was a lie.”

  “I see.” He laughed. We clinked our glasses and sipped the Opus One in silent appreciation for a long moment. It was the best wine I’d ever tasted. I’m not sure if I’d say it was worth eight hundred dollars, but it was definitely worth charging Will Darcy eight hundred dollars.

  “What’s twenty percent of eight hundred?” I asked nonchalantly.

  “One hundred sixty.”

  I raised a brow. “Not bad for a day’s work.”

  The wine, plus two filet mignon dinners—I was looking at a two-hundred-dollar day. “Not bad at all.”

  I wondered how long I could hold on to Will’s credit card and if I could somehow strong-arm him into bringing a large party next time. Lobster for everybody!

  “May I ask why…” Fitz began tentatively.

  “Well, we’re technically supposed to only add eighteen percent, but I figure twenty is customary. Although, some people still only tip fifteen percent…”

  “No. Not that.” He shook his head. “Why do you work here? Aren't you on equity contract?”

  “You want to know why I still wait tables when it would seem I’ve made a career in theatre.”

  “Exactly.”

  I shrugged. “What happens when the show closes? What happens
when I don’t book another gig for months? There’s no guarantee.”

  “Okay.” He took another sip of his wine. “I have another ‘why’ question.”

  “Why am I drinking on the job?”

  “Actually, I was going to ask why you wouldn't be talking to me if I were a straight man, but the drinking question’s interesting, too.”

  I let out a long sigh, somewhat warmed by the tannins in the wine. Fitz didn’t really want to be bored with my feeling towards men. The fact was, I had trust issues. I supposed part of it stemmed from my recent disappointment in Bing. I seriously didn’t think there were any good men these days. Except the gay ones. Why were all the good ones gay? It didn’t seem fair.

  Then there was Brett. I thought he was the one. But when Hollywood called, he turned into someone I didn’t recognize. Breaking up with me would have been a blessing. But he humiliated me at an important screen test. If I’d gotten that job, it would have changed my life. Actually, it did change my life because the next day, the video went viral on Brett’s YouTube channel. He’d used my humiliation for personal gain. I vowed never to trust another guy ever again. Especially Hollywood types.

  “You know, Fitz,” I said after some thought, “I just don’t believe in happily ever after. Men and women can’t be friends, and I’d rather not waste my time.”

  He gave me a small nod and was silent for a long time after that, watching me sip my wine and pouring more for us to enjoy together. I was probably drinking faster than I should have, especially considering I was devouring Will’s portion. We had gone through three quarters of the bottle when Fitz said thoughtfully, “You’re right. There are no guarantees.”

  Interesting. Most people didn’t agree with me on anything, but I just rolled with it.

  “The entertainment business is fickle,” he continued. “You might not get another gig for a while, that’s true, but you also might get carpal tunnel or something and lose your ability to wait tables.”